


Something New

by VizardMask



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Incest Fantasy, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VizardMask/pseuds/VizardMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter with a rent boy goes in a surprising direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=116808343t116808343

It is an accident, the first time. The boy is younger than him, dark haired, slim, with a beautifully sculpted mouth. Mycroft had picked his picture out on the website for that reason, his mouth, and for the endearingly amateurish way the photo had been posed. The boy is new to this business, and trying to hide it. Mycroft likes the new ones. They move with considerably less artifice and their nervousness adds a sharpness, an electricity to the air.

“On your knees,” Mycroft says kindly, and the boy drops to the floor with a pleasing alacrity, looking up to see Mycroft’s face, trying to read what he wants. Mycroft runs his fingers through the boy’s hair. Too short, he thinks disapprovingly. 

“Should I-?“ The boy begins, and Mycroft tugs gently at his hair to shut him up. 

“In a moment,” he says, coolly, and tilts the boy’s face up. He runs his thumbs over the boy’s skin, feeling the smoothness of the forehead, the softness of cheeks with barely a hint of stubble.

“How old are you?”

The boy shifts a little, and Mycroft can feel the mental calculations taking place. How old does he want me to be?

“Nineteen,” the boy says at last, which is a lie but rather a pleasing one for some reason. 

Mycroft runs his thumb across the boy’s lower lip. A pretty, lying little mouth. 

“Undo my trousers,” Mycroft tells him, and the boy moves quickly to obey. “Put me in your mouth.”

The boy might be new to the profession but he knows what he is doing, Mycroft is gratified to discover, his mouth moving over Mycroft’s cock with satisfying licks and sucks. Intuitive, Mycroft thinks, a good quality in a whore. He is glad the boy knows better than to tease. He shifts and angles the boy’s head so that he can watch his cock slide in and out of that lovely mouth. Something nags at him, unsatisfying. The hair. The hair is wrong. Much too short and Mycroft prefers curls. Mycroft closes his eyes and pictures the scene again, a mouth moving over him, imagines his fingers gripping luxurious black curls. All of a sudden, Mycroft’s eyes snap open, and he stares down at the boy again, horrified. The boy stops, clearly sensing a change in Mycroft, eyes suddenly anxious, alert.

“Is everything alright, Sir?”

Mycroft looks down at him for a long moment, blue eyes, pale skin, wet reddened lips. 

“Certainly.” He says at last. “Please continue.”

The boy ducks his head again and Mycroft feels wet heat engulf him once more. He pulls in a ragged breath and tips his head back, trying to ignore the pictures flooding his mind. The boy make a muffled sound around him and Mycroft knows he is being too rough, but he doesn’t care. He grips at the boy's hair harder and thrusts, making the boy gag, and struggling a little to adapt to the feel of him pushing in even further. When Mycroft finally comes there is a name on his lips that he has to fight hard to keep from saying aloud.


End file.
